I Dare You (ARC)

by Sam Carrington

  a shiny, silver toast rack, place a pot of butter and one of jam

  onto a plate and present it to Eric on the dining room table.

  That had been her father’s breakfast every day for the years he’d spent at home. For the ten years of Anna’s life he’d been around.

  ‘Have you checked the front door?’ Muriel asked.

  ‘No. I was gearing up for it. I didn’t sleep much, kept jolting

  awake at every small sound. I didn’t hear any loud banging or

  anything, though. Maybe there’s nothing. Yet.’

  ‘I glanced at the doormat first thing but was waiting for you

  to check the door. Not sure my poor heart can take any more,

  if I’m honest.’

  ‘Ditto,’ Anna said. ‘And if there’s going to be a “big one”,

  it’ll be today. I feel it.’

  ‘Should we check the security camera first?’

  ‘Yes, good idea. We’ll be prepared then.’

  Muriel and Anna both made their way upstairs to the spare

  room – the box-room at the front of the house where the

  recorder and monitor were set up. Anna peered out through the

  curtains. No one was about.

  ‘Do you know how to work it, Anna?’ Muriel took her glasses

  off her head, perching them on the end of her nose, and stared

  over them at the blank monitor screen. Anna smiled. Why put

  glasses on and then look over the top of them? She didn’t bother

  to voice the question.

  ‘I had a practice; it’s very straightforward,’ Anna said.

  ‘Well, it is for you youngsters, not so much for me.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Let’s hope you don’t need to become an

  expert . . .’

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  Anna pushed a few buttons and the image of the front door popped up on the screen.

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘It’s the body,’ Muriel said, her tone defeated. ‘I didn’t hear

  it. Must be going deaf as well as daft.’

  One of her mother’s favourite sayings.

  ‘Okay, well we can at least go back through the recording.

  Maybe we’ll catch them in the act and be able to identify the

  fuc—’

  Muriel shot Anna a hard stare.

  ‘Sorry. I stopped myself, didn’t I?’ Anna protested, feeling

  like a child again.

  ‘I’m scared to see,’ Muriel said quietly.

  ‘Don’t watch then. I’ll find the right bit, see if there’s anything helpful. You can make your mind up if you want to know afterwards.’

  For a moment Muriel looked confused, but then she straight-

  ened and agreed it would be better if Anna checked first. She

  backed out of the room.

  Anna went to the beginning of the recorded footage. She

  watched minute after minute of the infrared grey-white,

  non-moving image of the front door. Then, with the time

  showing at 2.13 a.m., Anna noticed a shift in brightness. A

  torchlight on the door? She sat forwards, her heart racing at the thought she was about to see someone. The person who’d been

  leaving the doll’s parts, leaving the notes. She held her breath

  as a dark figure approached the door.

  A gloved hand reached up, steadying what must be the doll’s

  body, as the other hand pushed something against it. They

  didn’t appear to have a hammer; it must just be a pin. But

  Anna’s attention had left the gloved hands. It was focused on

  the hooded figure. She’d known she wouldn’t be able to tell

  the identity of the Knock, Knock player – they would’ve been

  prepared and covered themselves as much as possible. But

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  Anna could distinguish their build, as she’d hoped would be the case.

  And Anna was certain she was not watching Billy Cawley at

  her door.

  She rewound the footage and watched again, and again.

  It was a woman, she was sure.

  Had Muriel been right all along? Was it Eliza Cawley – Lizzie?

  The woman had reached up quite high to pin the body to

  the door. Maybe that would indicate how tall she was.

  Anna rushed down the stairs and flung the door open,

  revealing the torso. Polly’s torso. It had only been attached with a large pin, no nail this time. To ensure she and Muriel couldn’t hear her this time? Had the unidentified woman seen, or known,

  about the camera too?

  ‘I’ve checked the camera footage, Mum.’ Anna walked into

  the lounge, the torso in her hand.

  ‘And?’ Muriel turned and her face fell as she noticed what

  Anna was holding. ‘Oh.’

  ‘It’s a woman. It’s not Billy doing this to you.’

  Muriel seemed to shrink a little. Relief relaxed her face. ‘That’s something. But why? Why is a woman doing this? Unless I was

  right, that Lizzie can’t be trusted, that it’s her and she’s the one who wanted revenge for her dad.’

  ‘It’s a possibility. We have to work on the assumption it is

  her for now, I think. She did seem particularly upset at finding

  out how you and Nell had recorded her confession. And she

  was very keen on pushing the attention onto Tina.’

  ‘Tina? How come? You never told me that.’

  ‘Only just happened, I haven’t had a chance to discuss it with

  you. Lizzie thinks there’s some kind of Stepford wives thing

  going on in Mapledon – that the monthly meetings the women

  had were in some way the key to the bad goings-on in the village.

  Key to getting her father put into prison.’

  ‘That’s absurd,’ Muriel said. ‘The more you say, the more I’m

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  certain it’s her. She’s a very damaged young woman, Anna. You need to be careful there.’

  ‘I will. Anyway, let’s see what this torso has for us.’ Anna

  pushed two fingers inside the hollow – through the hole where

  a leg should go – and pulled out a piece of folded paper. She

  was about to put the body on the table, when something else

  caught her eye. ‘There’s something else in this one.’

  ‘Oh, now what?’ Muriel sounded deflated.

  Anna had expected something in addition to the doll’s body, something significant being that it was the anniversary, but still she felt a surge of panic. Her fingers shook as she grasped the

  small, round item and pulled it clear. She stared at the cloth-covered ball sitting in the palm of her hand.

  ‘Open it,’ Muriel said. Her voice had lost all power. She was

  scared. Which scared Anna.

  She carefully unravelled the small parcel. Anna sucked in her

  breath as she realised what she was holding.

  ‘Shit!’ Anna breathed. Muriel didn’t chastise her language

  use. Anna sensed she was thinking the same. ‘How? Why?’ Anna

  couldn’t order her thoughts.

  In her hand lay a small, silver, heart locket on a dainty chain.

  And they both knew whose it was.

  Neither of them looked at the other.

  ‘The note might explain,’ Anna whispered.

  ‘No! Don’t read it!’ Muriel lurched forwards, grappling to

  take the paper from the table. Anna was quicker.

  ‘God, Mum! Why? We may as well – and actually we
need to.

  We have to know who had this and why? Not to mention, how?’

  Muriel’s face contorted. Tears escaped her screwed-up eyes.

  Anna’s chest tightened. What the hell was this reaction?

  ‘Don’t, Anna. It’ll be lies, rubbish. Just like everything else.

  No good can come—’

  ‘Of digging up the past. Yeah, I know. You and Nell have been

  very keen on telling me that. You are both hiding something

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  – don’t think I don’t know. Now, come on. It’s time for the truth to surface.’

  Muriel shook her head, tears still spilling down her face.

  Was Anna about to find out what Muriel had done? She

  obviously thought it was all about to come out. That’s why she

  didn’t want Anna to read the note.

  With her eyes watching her mother carefully, Anna unfolded

  the paper.

  SOMEONE HAS TO CONFESS, NOW!

  Anna was about to shout, to say how this was a repeat of the

  note found in the leg. But the words continued.

  Anna’s legs weakened. Her arm felt heavy – she dropped her

  hand to her side, the note falling from it. Muriel slowly bent

  down to retrieve it. She read it, then reached a hand out to

  Anna.

  ‘Darling, I’m sorry.’

  Anna stared, open-mouthed. It didn’t make sense. The words

  were wrong. She must’ve misread them. She snatched the paper

  from her mother’s hand and looked again.

  No. She hadn’t been mistaken. She read the words aloud this

  time.

  ‘AND THAT SOMEONE IS YOU, BELLA.’

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  Chapter Eighty

  2019

  Lizzie

  ‘I think you need to go back a few steps. Tell me from the

  beginning.’

  ‘You got all night?’ Billy smiled, weakly.

  ‘I’ve got however long it takes,’ Lizzie said. She took her

  mobile phone and tapped out a text to Dom. There was no

  service, as expected, but he’d hopefully get it before he had time to really worry about her. Then she set her phone to record,

  placing it on the small, square, melamine table in front of them.

  Billy closed his eyes, sighing deeply. ‘It’s odd. I’ve kept this

  inside for thirty years. Almost as long as I was inside. It feels wrong, almost, to speak of it again now. Maybe I should let

  sleeping dogs lie.’

  ‘But what good will that do? If you’re innocent, like you say,

  then someone else is guilty. Why should they get away with it?’

  ‘I don’t expect you to understand, Eliza.’

  ‘Can you call me Lizzie, please?’

  ‘Sure. Seems no one wants to be themselves anymore. Maybe

  I should change my name too.’

  ‘I think you should, actually. Anyway, enough stalling. I want

  to hear your side. I need to know. I realise it must be difficult for you to talk about it all these years later, but it’s important 305

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  to me to know the truth. Don’t you think I deserve it? And Tina Hayes? That poor woman has been suffering terribly, wondering

  where her girl is.’

  At the mention of Tina, Lizzie noticed Billy’s face lose its

  colour. She’d been right. When she’d seen how close they were

  standing in the photo, she’d known there was more to them

  than anyone else knew. It was her name that now seemed to be

  the magic word to get Billy Cawley to begin his story.

  ‘Right. Okay. So, Muriel Fisher started it. The whole campaign

  to drive me from the village came from her. She was the force

  behind it all. At first, I thought her heart was in the right place.

  You were a strange child.’ Billy looked into her eyes, putting his head to one side. ‘Sorry, but it’s true. Not that it was your

  fault . . .’

  ‘It’s fine. I get it. Go on,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘I think she saw the damage inside you before I really under-

  stood it. But instead of looking for the real reason, she assumed I was . . . abusing you . . .’ He struggled to say the words. ‘Once she’d got that notion in her head, there was no stopping her.

  She looked for evidence of it, but when she didn’t find any, she

  decided to make it up instead. I’d already given her the ideal

  background – you know the kids of the village had decided I

  was a weirdo and hounded me?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t have any memory of it, but I heard all about the

  Knock, Knock, Ginger games and how you were always the main

  target.’

  ‘Yes, and after a while – bearing in mind I was grieving and

  a mess – I gave in to it and played along.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It got so tiring, the constant banging on my door, the stones

  thrown at the windows. The copper wasn’t going to do anything

  – the kids outran that fat bugger every time.’

  ‘Pat Vern? He’s with Tina Hayes now,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Billy shrugged. ‘Anyway, I thought if I couldn’t

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  beat the little shits, I may as well have some fun with them. So, I began chasing them myself. Ran after them down the cul-de-sac

  screaming blue murder, threatening to give them a hiding they’d

  never forget. Hearing them scream like babies gave me an

  element of satisfaction. Sometimes I’d have a giggle when I got

  back home, puffed out and red-faced. Those ended up being

  the only times I ever laughed!’

  ‘But it added to your scary persona. Reinforced everyone’s

  belief you were a weirdo and the kids should be afraid of you.

  All it did was make you more of a target because you became

  a challenge. If a kid could get close to the bungalow – or even

  inside – it gave them greater kudos with their mates.’

  ‘Exactly. Which all came back to bite me on the arse when

  Jonie Hayes went missing.’ Billy leant forwards, resting his

  clasped hands on his thighs. ‘She’d been one of the kids who’d

  regularly played Knock, Knock. Her and the liar.’

  ‘The liar?’

  ‘Yeah. The one who told the police what she saw that day.’

  ‘Bella Fisher.’

  ‘Yep – the bitch’s daughter.’

  ‘She gave the description of your truck, which was easily

  recognisable to everyone around here, and told the police she’d

  seen Jonie get into it and you drive away. Out of the village.’

  ‘That’s what she said, yes. But the girl lied, Lizzie. She had

  to have done.’

  ‘But they found DNA evidence in your truck?’

  ‘Oh, you mean the planted evidence? Yes, well. What they

  found was a piece of clothing, a dress, with blood on it. They

  may as well have set the dogs on me there and then. No one in

  the village even waited to find out whose it was. And it just so

  happened that it was Eliza’s— your dress. It was my blood. But instead of them thinking “Oh, we were wrong”, that piece of

  so-called evidence seemed to be the final nail in the coffin. If I could hurt you, I coul
d hurt Jonie Hayes. They thought I’d taken

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  her to replace my daughter. To replace you. To do to her what they always thought I did to you. But I never touched you. As

  I say, the blood was mine. You hit out at me several times. You

  acted so oddly, you actually scared me. I put it down to the

  shock of losing your mother. It was more than that, but I didn’t

  have the chance to find out. Because that fucking bitch manip-

  ulated you into telling social that I did stuff to you. Hideous

  stuff. Unthinkable. It destroyed me.’

  ‘Yes, I know about that now. Muriel confessed.’

  ‘It wasn’t me though. I wasn’t the one abusing you.’

  Lizzie frowned. ‘Meaning what? You think I was abused?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I know it.’

  ‘Who? Who did it? Do you know?’

  ‘I have my suspicion – I’ll get to that later. But, like everything else in that fucked-up place, the villagers hid it. They looked

  after their own. I was the obvious culprit. They didn’t bother looking elsewhere. I was set up for that, then they pinned Jonie

  on me, too. On the outsider who had nothing left to lose.’

  ‘How, though? I get you’d built a bit of a reputation, which

  was then reinforced with me being taken away, but to be charged

  with abduction and murder? I don’t understand how anyone

  could’ve achieved it.’

  ‘A lot was circumstantial. Even the dress – which they later

  found out was yours – and the blood, which was mine, wouldn’t

  have held up in court. But a little girl’s witness statement to the police, one detailing my vehicle and saying how I’d chased her

  and her friend Jonie, how I’d then grabbed Jonie and bundled

  her into the truck – well, they listened to that, and they believed it. Because I didn’t have an alibi – or rather no one would admit to seeing me anywhere else at that specific time – this was deemed the key evidence. And when the police searched the bungalow . . .

  that’s when they found it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Her necklace. They said I must’ve taken it as a trophy.’

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  Chapter Eighty-One

  1989

  Fisher residence

  Wednesday 19th July – the day of, 7 p.m.

  ‘Is Bella home with you?’

  ‘Yes, Tina. She’s been home for a while,’ Muriel said. Would